


Good? Good.

by Fickle_Obsessions



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Domestic, Established Relationship, Kink Negotiation, Lapdance, M/M, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Stability porn, Teacher Stiles, Very Mild Daddy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7759087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fickle_Obsessions/pseuds/Fickle_Obsessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben has a special request. He wants a nice quiet evening at home with his incredibly dad-like boyfriend and then, at some point, ropes.</p><p>Another simple fic where the tags tell you basically everything you need to know.</p><p>ETA: Now with a <s>second</s> third chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to a tumblr prompt, and I'm shipping it over to AO3 in the interest of completeness and also because I really secretly love this fic.

There is such a thing as being too on the nose.

Ben knows he has a type and he is so earnestly, sincerely into that type, but it’s shamefully transparent. He is fooling absolutely no one by being a young gay man with an attraction to tall, older men with steady, mature personalities. All words by the way that describe George perfectly. It’s embarrassing but the first time Ben looked over and realized that George had fallen asleep while watching the WWII movie that _he_ had picked out, Ben knew he was sunk. And not that it really matters, but George has money, too, while Ben has gobs of student debt. So it’s George that reaches for the bill at dinner, George that gives the big gifts, George that walks Ben through how to get the best price on a car.

And now Ben wants to ask George to tie him up.

Taken one way it could be kind of insulting, like George is just some stand-in authority figure. A cardboard cutout complete with a speech bubble reading “Ask me how I can help you with your daddy issues!” But that’s genuinely not the case. Ben didn’t put himself through Yale to spend the rest of his life pretending he doesn’t know any better, deferring to George’s opinion on things, wanting to get told what to do.

He just wants to revel in the fact that George offers the kind of stability that helps Ben to breathe easier. He wants George to come home every single night after work, talk current events with Ben over dinner, and then putter around with one of his hobbies while wearing his ridiculous reading glasses. And he also wants George to take off the glasses at some point in the evening and just really fuck the hell out of Ben. That’s not too much to ask.

At least he hopes that’s not too much to ask.

The conversation goes pretty well. Ben makes himself ask for it like an adult and not a blushing teenager in order to make a point.

George thinks about it for a moment, then admits. “It’s not as if this comes out of left field.”

Ben nods, conceding that point, and gives up pretending that he’s not blushing.

George doesn’t sign any contract without patiently reading all of the fine print, and this is no exception. They talk about it, about what Ben would expect (“I just think it would be really exciting to be restrained, to have to you be the boss for the night.”) and what Ben doesn’t think he’s into or ready for (“I don’t want- I’m not looking to get hogtied or strung up from the ceiling or anything. You don’t need to buy like. A _costume._ ”)

Finally, George nods, and says, “Let me think about it.”

Maybe two weeks later they get a package, and Ben assumes it’s for one of George’s hobbies. Something for the victory garden, maybe. Ben hasn’t been around quite that long, but this is apparently George’s third summer of trying to unlock the secrets of growing a perfect tomato. He’s probably getting desperate with the plant food blends. Ben doesn’t think much about it, just drops it on George’s desk for him to look at later and goes to make dinner.

And he doesn’t think about it again until one day he comes home, kisses George hello, and goes into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. There, on the bed, are three neat bundles of a soft, white cotton rope laid out in a row. He stares at them for a moment, thinking about how they’ll be used, and all the while he can hear George in the kitchen, chopping something for dinner. It’s exactly what he wanted: the promise of a quiet, normal evening at home, complete with roast vegetables and chicken for dinner. George is probably even going to tease him by reading the Ulysses S. Grant biography he got over the weekend after they eat. And then, at some point, ropes.

He gives himself a moment to feel perfectly content, then starts changing. He puts a favorite t-shirt on, one that’s so soft it never fails to makes George come over and touch it. Coming into the kitchen, he doesn’t mention the ropes, just gives George a little smile and puts the rice on. George absolutely does come up behind Ben eventually, a bit later when he’s giving the rice a stir as it boils, to feel his shirt. He spreads his palm over Ben’s side and rubs, hums quietly right in Ben’s ear at the softness of the fabric. It’s on the tip of Ben’s tongue to say just _fuck_ dinner, it can wait, but George slips away before Ben can turn the burner off.

Just as predicted, after dinner out comes the Grant book, and Ben can’t help but fidget but he tries to do so patiently. He cleans the kitchen a little more thoroughly than he usually does. It doesn’t take up quite enough time so he puts his nervous energy into sorting the mail that they’re both terrible about dealing with it. It’s an astonishingly mundane taste that none the less manages to feel somehow exciting because Ben can’t stop thinking about the ropes in the bedroom. After that’s done, however, all he can think to do is flop onto the couch and start playing a game on his phone.

It’s not too much later that George sets his book aside. Ben’s heartbeat gets the memo– ‘something exciting is about to happen!’– right away and starts pounding like mad as George comes over, takes Ben hand and pulls him up off the couch. Once Ben’s upright, George gives his arm a little tug in the direction of the bedroom, but it’s up to Ben to follow him. He does, eagerly.

They kiss beside the bed, in arm’s reach of the rope, but George is still teasing. He’s perfectly happy to just kiss Ben until he sighs, and pull their hips tight together until Ben, already hot with just the thought of what’s about to happen, is practically beside himself. He tries every combination of needy and pushy he can manage, but George has got his feet firmly planted. They’re not going anywhere until he says.

But he finally does say. He pushes the heels of his hands against Ben’s hip bones until there’s space between the both of them again and says, “Take off your clothes.”

Off comes the soft t-shirt, along with Ben’s jeans, his boxers. While he’s undressing George runs the rope through his hands, unraveling it, folding it in half. When Ben is completely stripped, George looks at him for a moment, eyes climbing up and then down his body.

“Put your arms behind your back.”

Ben complies immediately, turns when George nudges his shoulder. George rearranges his arms until they no longer held with the wrists side by side like he’s waiting to get handcuffed, but are instead neatly folded on top of each other, each hand clasped around his forearm. Ben’s lips part as George begins to wrap his wrist together, several times over, rows and rows of soft, sturdy rope. The movement of George’s fingers is confident, and it occurs to Ben that he’s probably been researching this since they talked. Ben smiles, delighted that he’s found a way to make himself into one of George’s hobbies.

George ties the rope off and Ben tests the binding with a flex of his wrists. It’s nice, solid and secure.

“Good?” George asks.

Ben nods immediately. “Really good.”

“Let’s get you on the bed, then.” George puts one hand on Ben’s shoulder, another on his hip, and holds Ben steady as he gets one knee, and then the other up on the bed. From this kneeling position, George slowly eases Ben down until his cheek is pressed to the mattress, ass up high, like he’s presenting it. And that, just doing that and thinking about how he must look has got Ben wound up like nothing they’ve ever done before. It makes him restless, and he tugs a little against the bindings on his wrists, feels again how securely he’s held in place. He shuts his eyes and just breathes for a bit before he embarrasses himself by moaning without even being touched.

“You have to tell me if anything goes numb, all right?”

Ben nods, manages to mumble, “Uh-huh.”

George walks around to the bedside table, opens it, plucks what Ben is sure is probably the lube out of the drawer and comes back. He puts a knee on the bed, braces himself with a hand against the mattress near Ben’s shoulder, and presses against him. Lets him feel that George is still fully dressed, before he starts to drag his fingers along Ben’s ass.

The thing Ben knew and loved already about George is that he’s patient. The thing he didn’t realize about himself, however, is that getting tied up makes him incredibly, almost painfully, impatient. So that fact that George takes his time opening him up, teasing and stretching, stopping any time Ben tries to shove back on his fingers, is both awful and amazing at once. Ben thought he was into this but goddamn is he so fucking into this. He’s held fast and at George’s mercy, cursing helplessly, and desperately hard. He finds himself thinking– when he was so sure he wouldn’t– that he didn’t mind the idea of having both his arms and his legs tied at the same time. He wishes that he couldn’t move his ankles, that they were tied down.

George straightens up, pushes up off the bed so he can watch his fingers work, and the thought of it, George watching, makes Ben shove back again, impatient. George smacks his thigh. It’s technically a surprise because they hadn’t specifically talked about it in this context, and also not a surprise because George isn’t exactly unaware of what attracts younger men to him. He’s spanked Ben before. Ben gives it his full blessing now, going tense with a gasp and then limp with a moan.

He gets George to do it a few more times, open handed slaps that feel amazing, make him break out into a sweat, before George asks, “Do you need to change positions before I fuck you?”

Ben shivers, shakes his head, rubbing his cheek against the blanket. “No. I’m good. I’m so good. But-”

“But?”

“Can you, um. My ankles?”

There’s a little moment of silence where Ben’s heart skips a beat, but George answers him quickly enough. Says, “Yes,” and takes another bundle of rope off the bed. Ben waits, pulse pounding, for George to tie neat cuffs around each of his ankles with a length of rope left dangling from them. George takes the loose ends and attaches each of them to the bindings around his wrists. It’s not tight, Ben’s toes are still able to dig into the mattress, his legs can move side to side if he needs them to. But he is absolutely incapable now of standing up, of even getting off the bed unless George undoes a knot.

“Good?” George asks again.

“Good,” Ben sighs.

He hears George’s belt, his zipper, and that’s it as far as getting undressed before the head of his cock is pressing in. When George is fully seated, hips nestled against Ben’s ass, he feels the denim against his skin and moans. Then moans even louder when George gives a first few shallow thrusts, and his belt buckle slaps lightly against Ben's thigh.

It was not too much to ask apparently, to want to come home, play house, and then get living daylights fucked out of him. He’s felt close since George first put him on the bed, and he’s closer still when George finally folds his hand around Ben’s cock. It takes hardly anything at all, a few good pulls, each accompanied by a needy whine, and Ben’s coming. Behind him George groans and it’s probably the first real indication of how good this is for George. From the sound of it, it’s _good,_ Ben’s only heard him make a noise like that, so low and raw, a few times.

Afterward, there’s nothing Ben can do but feel the inside of his thighs getting more and more slick while he waits for George to untie him, ankle restraints first, then his wrists. When Ben’s free he rolls over and gets a towel tossed onto his chest. George settles beside him on the bed while Ben cleans up, one arm tucked behind his head. Ben tosses the towel in the corner, and fits himself into the space George has left for him.

He can’t think of anything to say except, “Jesus Christ, right?”

George chuckles at him, but doesn’t disagree.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little back story from George's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The combined result of two lovely asks from tumblr. I know I wrote this iteration of them, but I still can't handle them. They're so fucking sweet.

George would sincerely like to say that he knew right away that things would be different with Ben but that just isn’t the case. He meets Ben while at a tech expo which is exactly like any other tech expo, and Ben seems like any other start up looking for investors. It’s late in the afternoon, and George is more than a bit tired after endless panel discussions, ridiculous promotional gags, and nonstop pitches. He stops by Ben’s booth mostly out of a sense of completism and is almost immediately turned off when Ben tells him that their business model revolves around getting software into middle schools. Still, fatigue is no excuse for being rude, he decides to give Ben the time he needs to deliver his whole pitch.

It’s all the opening Ben needs because with every word his passion becomes more and more apparent – he really does believe that if kids can just get the tools to help them write their whole lives will change – and he becomes more and more attractive. Ben’s good looking, George knew that ten feet away, but when he hits his groove he’s irresistible, big blue eyes lit up with excitement, a little color coming up on his cheeks, and his hands, surprisingly large with slender fingers, open up and begin gesturing instead of clenching at his side. Ben has a habit of pressing his lips together when he’s listening, too, it keeps them plump, and dark, and distracting. And he’s not just intelligent, he’s _sharp,_ always sensing the question under the question and giving George the answer to that.

Intrigued, George begins to work the only angle a forty-five year old man has with a gorgeous boy in his twenties. He does it subconsciously at first, leans in, makes his gaze a little more direct, projects a serene sort of confidence. He drops his voice just a little bit, smiles – but only a little. He lifts the corners of his lips up, but doesn’t do anything more than that; he tries to look appraising.

Ben reacts. He lowers his eyes, shows his lashes. He doesn’t back away when George takes a small step into his space. George hadn’t had any way of being sure, but there was something about the type of product in Ben’s hair, the fitted button down, and the necklace hanging down, tucked under the shirt, from the slender neck that all combined to make George suspect, and suspect correctly.

He makes himself plain, tells Ben that he really did win him over, but the product isn’t right for George’s company, won’t fly with the board. “But I’d love it if you would consider joining me for dinner tonight.”

He does not say that he is sure that Gilbert, soft-hearted and able to operate without a board of directors obsessed with profits, would jump at an idea like Ben’s. He doesn’t want Ben to say yes because he thinks he needs to leverage George’s ability to network on his behalf.

Ben looks a little surprised; he laughs, quiet and obviously caught off guard. But he’s nodding well before he says yes.

 

Midway through the date, George still hasn’t caught on even though Ben, still attractive and intelligent, is now nervous and George is finding it adorable. Two glasses of the red wine George orders for them goes a long way in making Ben relax, and everything Ben decides to reveal about himself is lovely. He’s a graduate from Yale, he’s got a sneaky sort of sarcasm he likes to slip under seemingly innocent comments, and he’s thoughtful enough about his opinions not to make sweeping declarations. And he melts for compliments in a painfully appealing way that makes George even more likely to give them. Still George just thinks it’s a good night and he’s lucky to have gotten any chance at all.

He drives Ben back to his apartment, leans over the gearbox to kiss him, soft and easy, without any kind of demand, then sits back. He leaves it up to Ben – twenty-three (George has now learned) and coming to the end of a date where he has (hopefully) been treated as good or better than he ever has before – to decide if he wants to invite George up.

“Uh,” Ben says, working up the courage. “Did you- would you like some coffee?”

He would. Especially when coffee means backing Ben up against his kitchen counter to let him know they don’t need to go too far with that pretense. Ben abandons the coffee beans immediately, gets his arms wrapped around George’s neck and parts his lips to let George lick past them.

George has been around long enough to know that he and Ben have a chemistry that one doesn’t find all that often. Ben’s responsive, showing the effects of everything George does to him and everything he does to George on his face, so it’s easy to give him the right pressure, the right grip. Ben’s instincts are good, too, he doesn’t make assumptions about George what wants and start playing a role that makes him feel ridiculous. He sucks cock like it’s not a novelty or a chore, but a pleasure, one he’s grateful to have. Ben makes a gorgeous noise when he comes, long and satisfied, and George stays long enough to get to hear it twice.

He’s sweet and over-sensitive after, lets George hold him and just look at him, doesn’t immediately roll over to grab his phone. He watches George put on his suit again while laying on his stomach with a small smile.

He flops onto his back when George comes over to kiss him goodbye, and says, softly and carefully casual, “Can I text you later?”

It’s not all that unusual for George to get the request, not all that unusual for a guy to wake up the next day and find that he didn’t mean it. George smiles, says, “Absolutely,” and let the chips fall where they may.

Where they fall is Ben texts him the next evening, surprised and pleased that he just got contacted by Hermione Global Investments. He manages in two short texts to clearly convey that he’s not sure whether George will be interested in hearing about it.

George, having called Gilbert that morning, is.

Twenty minutes after George sends his response, Ben sends him a text wondering if he wants to get together again, maybe help Ben talk out the proposal over drinks.

George, having spent the entire day thinking about Ben, does.

 

Even so while on their second date all George thinks is that it will be hard letting go of this one when Ben works out whatever it is he needs to work out. George takes him out, takes him home, and waits for Ben to realize he’s boring, that George will never suddenly be interested in being at a party late at night, that his company will always reliably be a top priority.

Until then, though, he gives Ben everything he’s looking for, gives Ben the attention of an older man dressed in bespoke suits, and a steady personality that lets Ben text when he wants, come around when he wants, without getting a jealous. He gives Ben honest compliments about his intelligence, his maturity, holds Ben’s face in his hands and calls him beautiful even though he’s had decades to look at beautiful boys. He gives Ben the opportunity to let go a little in bed, get held down and feel like it’s right, like it’s appropriate. He rubs his hand over Ben’s perfect ass, notes that it turns up a little underneath his palm. He brings his hand down, watches it turn pink immediately as Ben gasps.

He gives Ben that, too, though it’s hardly as if he doesn’t want to. Ben is breathtaking any which way, but he’s sublime like this. George likes especially that Ben doesn’t feel the need to add any lewd commentary lifted straight from porn dialogue. He just flexes under George in little waves, tightening up with each smack and then sagging bonelessly back down into the mattress. By the time George has thrust in, Ben’s skin is red and fever hot and he’s reacting like getting fucked into the sheets is a deep tissue massage. George tells himself to be grateful he’s getting this at all, not to be greedy.

George waits, and he waits, and when Ben continues to not outpace him, he tries to hang back and give Ben the opportunity to slip away. Ben doesn’t take it. He stays until George can’t keep separate all the uninteresting parts of his life, until he gives up worrying that Ben will get bored and sits down to read while Ben is over, goes out into the garden while Ben is still asleep in his bed. Ben keeps lingering, starts bringing over his own books, starts keeping his products in George’s bathroom. When George falls asleep on the couch at ten p.m. on a Saturday, Ben doesn’t sigh huffily, complain. He wakes George with an unmistakably fond kiss and takes him to the bedroom. 

And George finally starts to suspect things will be different with Ben.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr snippet because I cannot stay away from this gentle verse.

Ben is a bit shy about asking George to come along to the panel discussion at Yale. He mentions it casually as they get ready for bed, shrugs when he says that George could come with him. He doesn’t know why Ben’s still laboring under the belief that George wouldn’t want to hear about these things, wouldn’t want to watch Ben get the attention and recognition he deserves. When he asks about it Ben just shrugs and points out that George rarely talks about his own work, rarely seems to think of telling Ben about the results of board meetings that take weeks to prepare for.

George takes the point. And he goes with Ben to Yale. It’s a pleasure to watch Ben do anything, but George has a soft spot for things involving Ben’s work. It’s how they met, it’s how Ben distinguished himself to George in a crowd of four dozen eager start-ups. Big blue eyes lit up with ideas, long fingers making emphatic, ridiculous shapes in the air as he says something very clever. George likes particularly to watch the audience, even the other members of the panel, realize that Ben is someone really worth listening to. He’s more than glad he came.

The mixer after the panel is unfortunately a bit of a let down. Too many people with their own agendas, ideas to peddle, books to plug, not enough worthwhile conversation. To be polite to those who invited him, Ben stays for almost an hour, sipping on two glasses of champagne and making small talk. George stands at his elbow and tries to look interested, but eventually even Ben is restless. He whispers in George’s ear, “Want to get out of here?”

George assumes, hopes really, that this means they will go back to the hotel, but instead Ben takes him on a tour of the campus. They walk a bit aimlessly, Ben pointing out buildings, talking about memories. George doesn’t mind the detours, it’s nice to see Ben just assuming that he wants to know.

On a whim, Ben tries a door to an old academic building and finds it open. “Oh,” he says, excited. “I can show you one of my old classrooms.”

The building is mostly empty, but there are signs of life here and there: lights on in rooms, the hum of elevator at the end of the hall as someone goes up or comes down. Ben finds a lecture hall, and is pleased to find the door unlocked. 

He flicks the light switch by the door, revealing an ordinary lecture hall, tiered seating with long counters for the students to use as desks. Down in front there’s a small desk and a chair before a row of whiteboards, old notes rubbed away until they’re illegible, but not quite gone. The room is eerie in that way that empty classrooms always are, very quiet and almost unnaturally still. The loudest noises in the room the buzz of the fluorescent lights coming to life, and Ben’s footsteps as he walks down the rows.

“I got started with Ruby in this class,” he tells George. “I had such a crush on my professor. Dr. Hansen.”

“Dr. Hansen?” George follows him, two steps behind.

Ben looks back at him and nods. “Yeah, I was a total teacher’s pet for him.”

“No,” George teases. “You? This is shocking information. Who would have guessed?” 

George gets a sour look thrown his way, but Ben doesn’t argue the point.

He keeps heading down towards the front of the room, “I got all my wires crossed actually. I’d come to class and I’d be so excited about learning something I was really clicking with, but still be torn between wanting to pay attention and wanting to fantasize about the teacher. And, oh god, jerking off later and thinking about him telling me I was his best student.” He laughs at himself, glances over at George, “Kind of pathetic.” 

George is pretty sure he’s meant to hear the question in the confession. Isn’t that strange? Isn’t that odd? George can’t answer one way or the other because he’s hardly unbiased. Just the thought of Ben being a little bit younger, a little more unsure but just as eager to please sets something off in him, makes George want to reach out and touch him, get his attention back on George instead of the past.

Ben has finally reached the desk and seems almost reluctant to touch it, as if at any moment a professor, maybe Dr. Hansen himself, will suddenly appear and demand to know what Ben is doing near his desk. George, struck with an idea, walks around it and sits in the professor’s chair. Ben bites his lip as George leans back in it and gives a show of being completely at ease, unbothered. The boundary is crossed and the space is now George’s.

“You wanted to speak to me?” George asks, and he knows how to sound authoritative. He knows what it does to Ben.

“You still teasing?” Ben asks, whispering like there’s any danger of being overheard.

“Not at all,” George answers. “But I want you to tease me.”

Ben blushes, can’t help but check to make the coast is clear. As far as they know they’re the only ones on this entire floor of the building, but there’s always the possibility the room was kept open because someone was coming, a professor, a janitor, whoever. George worries that perhaps Ben doesn’t like the anxiety of it, the risk of getting caught, but then he rounds the desk and puts his hands on George’s thighs as he leans down to kiss him. It’s rough enough that he knows Ben’s excited, that he guessed right. Just one little hint of a power imbalance, one little challenge and Ben’s fingers are digging into the meat of his thigh, and his kiss is deep and eager, with a rough hint of teeth. 

George expects at any moment for Ben to finally pull away and suggest they take this back to the hotel, but when Ben breaks the kiss he only turns around, and sits right down in George’s lap, makes himself comfortable. He can’t help but groan as Ben starts to grind against him, not at all tentative, but slow and wonderfully lewd. He starts to put his hands on Ben’s hips to encourage him but thinks better of it, knows what would be better.

He grabs Ben’s wrists and pins them to the top of the desk, spreads his hands over Ben’s and keeps him there. Ben’s gasp is perfect, shocked and hot and pleased. He works his hips back harder, and George has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning, doesn’t want to risk being overheard. It takes him more than a moment to get back under control, and he reminds himself that this isn’t about him.

“You did so well today,” he tells Ben, soft and low. Ben mewls at the praise, perfectly earnest.

“I was so proud watching you,” George says, and Ben acts like it’s the filthiest sort of dirty talk. Curses and gets all breathless, and he’s so fucking sweet, George loves that so much. “Proud of you, but also proud to see everyone slowly realizing how brilliant you are. Watching that and knowing that you’re mine.”

Ben shudders and tries to pull his hands out from under George’s grip. Slick palms help him to slide them an inch across the desk, but George is stronger. He laces his fingers with Ben’s and presses them down, keeping Ben where exactly he wants him. It seems to be exactly where Ben wants to be, too, his hips roll gorgeously against George’s erection. George makes the mistake of looking down to watch them as they work, and it’s too good. Ben’s narrow little waist right there under George’s nose, and as his hips undulate Ben’s ass pulls at his tight grey slacks, clearly defined under the thin material.

“Ben-” George says. He stops to take a breath because he suddenly doesn’t have enough air, and in the pause Ben moans, “Yes, sir?” And that’s it, there’s no holding back from that. He lets go of Ben’s hands to grab his waist and pull his hips back _hard_ against his own, and loses it in his shorts as his hips make these desperate little nudges against Ben’s ass.

“Oh _fuck,_ ” Ben keens softly when he figures it out, when he realizes he’d gotten George so worked up that he’s just come from just a lap dance. “Oh god.”

George spares a thought for his expensive suit, but Ben’s still on him, panting, desperately turned on but not sure what to do. He makes himself stand, gets Ben’s hands back on the desk so that he’s leaning over it and growls, “Stay there.”

Ben immediately complies, keeps his hands splayed on the shiny, tan wood and doesn’t move them as George pulls down Ben’s fly. Ben can’t stop cursing, whispering a constant string of “shit, fuck, holy shit,” as George gets a hand into his boxers and starts stroking him.

“Say it again,” George insists.

Ben’s hazy, thrusting helplessly into George’s fist, and he doesn’t know what George means at first. He breathes, “What?” confused, but then it hits him, and he blurts it out immediately. “Sir.”

George gives him a long, hard stroke to encourage him.

“Please, sir. Oh fuck, sir, please, _please._ Sir, I need it,” and every time Ben says it he gets more breathless and desperate until he’s jerking hard against George, whimpering, “Sir,” a final time. A second later George’s hand is wet, sliding through Ben’s come, working it onto his cock as George strokes him softly with a loose fist and brings him down.

He listens to Ben’s breathing even out and marvels at what Ben can get him do against all his better sense. Ben, maybe thinking the same, murmurs, “Holy shit,” before he finally straightens up. He turns around and kisses George, hard and happy, shivers a little when George puts his dry hand on Ben’s back and licks into his mouth. He sits back with a sigh, glowing, content before he suddenly squirms uncomfortably. 

Ben looks down at their slacks and grimaces. “Jesus, walking back the hotel is going to suck.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [tumblr,](http://fickleobsessions.tumblr.com) where I am constantly kinkshaming myself.


End file.
